Simple Things
by starlightisms
Summary: In five sentences, a story can be told. [ For Poirot Cafe. ]
1. Chapter 1

_**Five Sentence (Non-)Stories + Random Word Prompt  
**\- for Poirot Cafe_

* * *

_"Lamp."_

Sure, changing color was vaguely reasonable, but Kaito doubted that anyone really expected the gem to actually shed tears. And then actually dare to drink the said unknown substance. People used to think that mercury gave immortality, after all, and look where that ended up! All those thoughts fled, however, when the 'tears' turned into mist in Kaito's hand and swirled around his ears, whispering, "Three wishes - what is your first?"

Kaito decided that it was less of a color-changing and crying jewel and more of a freaking _genie lamp_ as he opened his mouth to speak.

* * *

_"Rose."_

The first time he gave her a rose was in front of a large clock tower. "Hi, I'm Kuroba Kaito."

The second was the same as the first, but several years later and a heist beforehand. "Hi, I'm Kuroba Kaito."

The third was the same as the second, but the hated dove had fallen to gunfire, and his fading blue eyes gleamed as he murmured to her, "Hi, I'm sorry."

* * *

_"Jet."_

Ever since that fateful day, Conan had always hated that color. Even as he chased it into the shadows and desperately reached to catch it, he hated it. Even as he let down the one who mattered the most again and again for the sake of hunting the darkness, he hated it. And when jet black ink stared back at him from the crumpled newspaper, pronouncing the mysterious death of one daughter of a famous detective, he thought that he could not hate the color more.

He was proved wrong at the funeral.

* * *

_"Tourist."_

To be honest, it had become too much of a regular occurrence for anyone else to do much more than gaze at the body tiredly. Then, they'd turn their exasperated eyes to the blue-eyed detective and his dark skinned friend. Of course, those two would already be probing around the scene; they were even more used to it than the police force, even.

Foreigners were another matter, though.

The tour bus erupted into screams and the two detectives winced at the (un)expected cacophony of noise.

* * *

_"Storm."_

Conan stumbled against the relentless wind and pounding rain, shouting his lungs hoarse as he trudged onward. A stream of denial kept running through his mind - he should've known, he _should've known_ \- nobody was immortal, no matter what they seemed.

But he'd gotten _used_ to it, he kept _forgetting-!_

So as he crumpled onto his knees on the edge of the roof, hands fisted tightly against the ground as he glared through the weather, whispers of _I'm sorry_ trickled through the stream of _no no no_ until it was all he could think.

Below, the white cloth of a failed hang glider fluttered.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Five Sentence (Non-)Stories + Random Word Prompt  
**\- for Poirot Cafe_

* * *

_"Paradise."_

Shinichi didn't find his peace until years later, after the shadow-cloaked crows were all but a ghost of the past, dead or imprisoned.

And even then, he was restless. Cases continued as usual, and the dance of life that he once longed for once more turned mundane in his eyes. The past had taught him, and he learned, but something continued to be amiss. It really wasn't until much, much later, when a little circle of metal was accepted with one word, that he finally found paradise.

* * *

_"Sponge."_

Ran once joked that he was rather like a sponge. Full of senseless holes, but could retain content better than most towels, really; and all you had to do was squeeze to get that knowledge out, instead of wringing out a cloth for forever. Still, this situation probably wasn't what she had in mind. Actually, probably was the furthest thing from the forefront of her mind when the gun fired.

On the other hand, Shinichi chuckled even as he fell.

* * *

_"Asylum."_

"I'm not crazy!" Shinichi knew it was useless, but he continued, "I swear he's there, why can't you just-!"

The door slammed shut, and he stumbled backwards until his back hit a padded wall - and then he crumpled, wondering _why why why_ -

White shifted, a sense of indigo in the visible but colorless eye as it whispered, _"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."_

* * *

_"Novice."_

Frankly, Inspector Nakamori found it really strange.

Some of the others had their own suggestions as an explanation, of course. Recovering from an injury. Getting back into the game, after years of break.

Still, the mistakes weren't just - just him finding his balance again, they were - like a _novice_ was figuring things out, slowly - and Kid was definitely no novice.

* * *

_"Price."_

People said time was like money, but Conan had never really known how true that saying was. Until now.

Now, with the antidote sitting in his hand, with Ran moved on and learning overseas. Now, after he'd paid years and years of time to get it, after the shadows continued to linger.

Now, when he didn't know if he wanted to take it anymore.


End file.
